Scenes from a Quarter Quell Victory
by symphonycirrus
Summary: How Haymitch Abernathy went from a kid from the Seam to a lonely, jaded drunk. Rated for non-explicit adult themes and language. Haymitch/Maysilee.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is an idea I've been kicking around for ages, haven't posted it before because I couldn't seem to get this first chapter right. I'm still not super-pumped about it, but if I don't get this story going, it'll live partially-done on my hard drive forever.

I do take some dialogue from "Catching Fire" here. Obviously, all genius belongs to Suzanne Collins and not to me.

* * *

It wasn't supposed to be like this. On so many levels, it shouldn't have been like this. I was so careful not to get attached. I didn't socialize on the train to the Capitol. I refused to train with anyone once I was there. All because I knew it would just make it harder later, when we have to kill each other.

I have no illusions of greatness. We started with 48 children. 48 families plastered to their TV screens, praying to whatever gods exist to bring their babies home. 39 of those families have already watched their loved one butchered on live broadcast across the nation. This whole thing is so incredibly stupid, I can't believe it still happens. Sometimes I just want to tell this whole world to fuck off.

It's not like I have a load of people at home waiting for me. Mom died years ago giving birth to my little sister, who got sick and died not three months after. Dad works in the mines, so my older sister Heather keeps the house and hires herself out for odd jobs so we won't have to take out tesserae. She's the one that will hurt the most when I'm finally gone.

But one person who undoubtedly has tons of people waiting for her back in District 12 is, oddly enough, sleeping quietly, curled up against me. Maysilee's curly golden hair frames her face and she looks so pretty, I know I'm in deep, deep trouble.

She is much quicker and smarter than I had originally estimated. I hadn't seen her since the bloodbath until three days ago, when a poisoned dart she fashioned saved my life. Since then, we've been a team. Although I promised myself I'd never form alliances, having her here has been…nice? Advantageous? Enlightening? I don't know.

The day before yesterday, we were fighting off a pair of boys from District 3. I only knew where they were from because she told me afterward. One of them had been knocked down, but came at her from the back while I was busy with the other. Paralyzing panic set in and I screamed "May!" She turned and shoved a dart right between his eyes. Later, we were splitting the food from their bags.

"Does your family call you Haymitch or do they have a nickname for you?"

I thought it over. "My sister calls me Mitch. Everyone else calls me Haymitch."

"Everyone calls me Maysilee except my dad. He calls me Madge." She sat silent for a minute. "Do you just have one sister?"

"I had another but she died as a baby."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Your sister is older, right?"

"Heather, yeah. She's three years older than me."

"I think I know her, she worked a couple summers at the store when we needed extra help."

"Yeah."

"I liked her."

Thinking about my sister made me sad, she must be so worried about me right now. "So you're a twin, right?"

"Yep, me and Melinda. I'm older by a minute and a half." Her face fell. "I miss her."

I took first watch that night, staring up at leafy canopy in this hellish wonderland. We had squeezed into a ditch covered by a large fallen tree trunk.

"Mitch?" Maysilee whispered from the sleeping bag next to me.

"Yeah?" I whispered back.

"What's something you'll regret not doing if we don't make it out?"

I couldn't see her face in the dark, but I stayed propped on my elbows. "Telling Snow to fuck off to his face?"

She giggled. "No, really."

I thought for a moment. "I don't know. My future in 12 would look like a miner's uniform. Can't really say I was looking forward to that."

"Did you want to get married?"

"I dunno. Maybe. Never gave it much thought."

"I wanted to get married." She said sadly.

"To anyone in particular?"

She sighed. "No, not really. My friends all have crushes, but I guess I never found mine."

"Oh, come on. You're so pretty, lots of guys have to be after you."

I could almost feel her blushing. It's the truth, though. Aside from Lily, the apothecary's daughter, the Donner twins were widely regarded as the most attractive girls at school. Maysilee's voice dropped until it was barely audible. "Haymitch?"

I moved closer to hear her and she leaned in to my ear.

"I don't want to die a virgin."

I'm sure my eyes looked like they would pop out of my head, but I looked, shocked, straight into her face and she was looking right back at me.

"Maysilee, you don't want that with me."

"No, Mitch, I've thought hard about this. Facing certain death, it's put things in perspective. Chances are, one or both of us will die tomorrow, or the next day. And I want do something special, something I can really feel, with someone I trust. I don't want to die with regrets."

This whole conversation had been so quiet, cameras would have been hard pressed to get clear audio on it, but that sort of activity was certain to draw attention. "Everyone is going to see."

"Not if you get in this sleeping bag with me." She raised her voice slightly. "Haymitch, I'm cold."

I considered the situation for a half moment, but couldn't really argue with her conclusion, or pass up a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with the most amazing girl in District 12. My hormones were already going haywire. I matched her volume. "Scoot over."

As I got in, I realized I had never been this close to a girl besides Heather ever. Maysilee's beautiful blue eyes were taking in everything. I pulled the sleeping bag up over our heads. She placed a soft, tentative kiss on my lips. I returned it. The warmth from her body was radiating and any chill I had from the night air was quickly gone. We kissed hesitantly again. I brought my hand up to rest on her hip. Her shape, even through her arena clothes, was so soft and feminine, yet strong. I parted my lips and she followed suit, deepening the kiss. Her delicate hand came to rest at my sternum, and if I hadn't been completely turned on before, I was now. I waited until she seemed ready for something more before pushing her shirt up a few inches and resting my hand on her bare skin. Maysilee inhaled sharply, then slid her hand under my own shirt and traced lines on my chest. After a moment, she grabbed the hem at my waist and pulled the shirt over my head. I was resisting the urge to hurry things along by reminding myself to let Maysilee set the pace. The last thing I wanted was for her to get hurt.

She let me strip her of her shirt. Though I couldn't see much under the covers, I knew she was absolutely flawless. Her skin was so smooth, I wanted to touch every inch of it. I tore my lips from hers long enough to whisper, "You are so beautiful." directly in her ear. She shivered and trailed her hand down, painfully slowly. It took all my effort not to end it all right there. Maysilee deserved better than a teenager that shoots his load in his pants. Of all the guys on earth, I was the one lucky enough to experience this.

"Sweetheart, are you sure?" I asked one more time. It might have killed me to stop then, but she had to be certain.

She reached up and pulled me in for a long, slow kiss. "I'm sure."

We moved a bit awkwardly, slowly, carefully, learning every inch of each other. We joined together in a way I could never begin to understand. She was the sexiest, most angelic creature at her climax, and I would have gladly frozen time in that moment forever. My arms gave out and I collapsed on top of her after I had finished. She ran her dainty fingers through my thick dark hair.

"Mitch, it was perfect." She murmured. All I wanted to do was sleep like that, but I knew we had been off our guard long enough.

"I'm glad." I smiled. "You deserve perfect." I felt around for my shirt and shorts. "You get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

I studied her face as she slept. I hadn't noticed the light freckles that dot her cheeks. Her long, beautiful eyelashes. She truly is stunning. We were together again last night, and I know I'm in trouble because I keep pondering ways to get both of us out of the arena. I need her now. The second night, if possible, was even better than the first. I discovered little intimacies about her that only I know. We've become one, and I feel like a useless half without her. Where I'm lackluster and ambivalent, she is brilliant and full of conviction.

I've mulled it over, and I think our best chance is find the edge of the arena. It obviously can't go on forever. If we find it, maybe we can both escape. I look down at the angel sleeping next to me. We have to find it. Together. As I started collecting our things and packing them in my backpack, Maysilee stirs. Her clear blue eyes flutter open.

"Haymitch."

I smile. My name is the first thing out of her mouth in the morning. "Come on, let's get moving."

She stretches and rises, gathering her things. "Where are we going?"

I point in the direction of a set of hedges I wandered through the day Maysilee found me. "That way."

"How come?"

I turn and begin walking. "Come on."

She follows for an hour or so, relatively silently, before persisting, "Mitch, why are we going this way?"

I ignore her. If they hear my plan, the gamemakers might change something. Then I hear her pack hit the forest floor.

"Haymitch Abernathy, I will not go one more step until you tell me what's going on."

I turn and step back toward her. "Because it has to end somewhere, right? The arena can't go on forever."

She looks suspicious, but a bit intrigued. "What do you expect to find?"

"I don't know, maybe there's something we can use."

This seems to satisfy her for the time being. I don't want to express my hope that we might be able to escape. Too many people are listening. Shortly after, we reach the hedge maze I had encountered before. I try to take different routes through it, but we keep getting rounded back to the entrance. The fourth time through, Maysilee stops about a hundred yards in to study a portion of the leafy wall.

"This is the back."

"How do you know?"

"I paid attention the first three times through."

I get up close and feel around the shrub. "It's really thick, we can't just push through."

Maysilee is rolling up her sleeves. "Hand me that blowtorch we got off that girl from District 2."

She is so smart. I rummage through my bag, handing her the tool. She wastes no time firing it up and lighting a six-foot portion of the hedge on fire. Once the flames have subsided, we can easily kick out the charred remains and step through: into nothing.

The ground is flat and lifeless. May follows me as I walk up to the edge of a precipice, and look down. This is it. There is no magical end of the rainbow. No door that we can walk through that leads out of this evil, twisted game. I know I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up, because it makes this moment so much more crushing. I will not leave with Maysilee. One of us might get out, more likely neither, but there will be no future for me and her. I am angry. Angry at myself for not knowing her sooner, but more angry at the Capitol for forcing us together, only to rip us apart in the most tragic way possible. I'm seventeen, she's sixteen, and we're going to die. Not only die, but be brutally murdered. Rage boils inside of me.

"That's all there is, Haymitch. Let's go back."

I'm too paralyzed. "No, I'm staying here."

She sighs, and kicks at the ground. "All right. There's only five of us left. May as well say good-bye now, anyway. I don't want it to come down to you and me."

I want to say a thousand words. I love her. I don't want her to go. If it came down to it, I'd put my knife through my own chest to make sure she goes home. But I don't say any of that. I stare at the ground and say, "Okay." And that's it. She's gone.

I'm frustrated with myself. And circumstances beyond my control. But I'm not ready to give up on this area. I kick at the pebbles at my feet. One dislodges and careens over the cliff. A moment later, it comes right back. The wheels in my head spin. I pick up a larger rock and toss it over. Again, it returns. Excitement sparks in me, and I laugh.

I'm about to yell for Maysilee when I hear the worst sound that has ever met my ears. She is screaming painfully. My feet can't get me there fast enough. I round the hedge and my stomach drops. A flock of stupidly pink birds with long beaks are running her through. One delivers the final blow to her neck. My knife is out and in one flick of the wrist, the bird falls, stabbed through the head, and the others scatter.

My heart is breaking as I run to her. Blood soaks her clothes in several places and erupts out of her throat. My life is ending.

"May!" She reaches for my hand as I fall to my knees. She tries to speak, but begins to choke on her blood.

"Shh." I hold her hand and run my fingers through her lovely hair. "I'm here." I lean over so my lips are touching her ear. "I love you."

She coughs, her eyes wide. She tightens her grip on my hand. "Mitch."

"Shh, don't." I try to soothe her.

She pulls me closer. Blood is seeping out her mouth. She is gasping for air. "Win. For me."

"Maysilee, please." Tears are flowing down my cheeks now, and I don't remember them forming. A drop falls from my face onto a pin she wears on her collar. It's a mockingjay. My Maysilee is drowning in her own blood and I can't do a thing about it. I think about how she should have gone home, gotten married, had beautiful babies, and lived a long life in District 12. Instead, she lays here. It's not fair. It's just not fair.

Her breathing becomes more rapid, and the horrible gurgling increases. I feel like it's me that's dying and I just want it to be over. Her blue eyes are wide with panic and I try not to cry out loud. She needs me to be strong for her. I keep hold of her hand and hold her gaze. I want every second of those sky blue eyes. I just have a few moments left. She never looks away from me, even when she's breathed her last. After a moment, when I hear the cannon, I reach up and draw her eyelids down.

I suddenly feel empty. Dead. Like there's no reason to continue on. I turn my knife over in my hand, seriously considering finishing myself off, until I think of Heather. I can't do that to her. I give Maysilee's bloody lips one last, light kiss, take her pack, and head off into the woods.

* * *

Thanks so much to everyone who has put me or my previous works on their favorites list, I appreciate it! Leave me some comments, and read a couple more chapters before you decide this one sucks ;)


	2. Chapter 2

I've been running for a long while. My legs hurt, my lungs hurt, but I don't want to stop until my physical pain matches the pain in my chest. Is nothing good in this world? Nothing sacred? What had Maysilee Donner done in her life to deserve that? A cannon sounds. Only three left. Three out of forty-eight. I'm distracted, trip over some underbrush, and faceplant into the dirt. Pounding the ground in frustration, I find tears again leaking from my eyes. My hands are shaking. For a long moment, I curl up into a ball and let myself sob silently.

I wish Heather were here. When I was little and had nightmares she was always there, arms around me, telling me it was going to be all right. As childish as it sounds, I just want to hear those words. Other tributes might be getting gifts from their sponsors or their district to help them through the last hours of the Games, but District 12 was screwed from the start. Our only victor won the 5th Hunger Games and died eight years ago, and the four of us had no mentor. No one in the Capitol was campaigning for any of us.

I let loose a string of quiet curses at the Capitol. Those sick sons of bitches getting off on watching sweet girls bleed out on live television. Maysilee would have something smart to say right now, but all that's left is mediocre me.

She was top of her class at school, with lots of friends. School never held much interest for me. It was going to teach me how to be a miner, which was inevitable, since that's what my father does. I didn't have a load of friends, but Ash Prentice, Flint Satterfield, and I usually sat by each other in class. Flint's sister Hazelle was a friend of my sister. None of them came to visit me after I got reaped. Just my sister and my dad. Heather did most of the talking and crying and reassuring. I think Dad was writing me off as dead, but he shook my hand and said, "Good luck, son."

I am drawn back to the present by yet another cannon blast. I am in the final two. Forty-six children have died. Before this day is out, the Games can be over. My mind returns to Maysilee, dying. _"Win. For me."_ I compose myself and stand up. Either I'll win for her, or I'll join her. Brushing the soft soil off my clothes, I head for the Cornucopia.

Of course, my last competitor would have to be that beast of a girl from District 1, and she would be armed with a humungous ax. _"Win. For me."_ I do have speed and a bit of agility on my side, though my knife looks quite small now. She swings the ax with force, and this means after she's committed to a movement, it's at least a second before she can change direction. There is a lot of circling each other, swipes into the air. I knick her dominant arm, then narrowly escape losing my own. She finally charges, and I lose my footing. I fall backwards and roll quickly to the right. Her ax head buries itself where my head just was. I take the split second opportunity to swing at her head. I succeed in putting out her eye, but she comes back immediately with a hit to my abdomen that forces me to drop my weapon. It's bad. Really bad. But I have an idea.

The trek through the woods is almost unbearable. The pain is overwhelming. I have to keep one hand over my midsection, for fear my entrails will fall out. Did Maysilee hurt this much? Stars prick the corners of my field of vision. I see the hole in the hedge now. It's not much further. There's so much blood. I'm getting really dizzy and losing my sight, but I stay focused. _"Win. For me."_ I wonder if I'll see Mom and baby Hallie when I die. That would be nice. Mom and Hallie and Maysilee.

I reach the edge of the precipice. I hear the girl behind me. I turn as she prepares to throw, and finally let the blackness take me.


	3. Chapter 3

I awake to the sound of beeping monitors. I'm alone, and alive. No Mom or Hallie. No Maysilee. A sharp pang of disappointment hits me. I'm in a hospital in the Capitol, I assume. A doctor walks in and notices I'm awake. He adjusts an IV bag and I pass out again.

The next time I wake up, the machines are gone. A set of clothes identical to those I wore in the arena lay next to the bed. Just looking at them makes me want to vomit. Throwing the sheet back, I realize I have no scars. My abdomen betrays none of the agony I endured. I'm good as new now. Like it never happened.

My district's capitol rep, I can't even remember the bimbo's name, is all happy and bubbly when I emerge from my room, chattering on about my interview tonight on Caesar Flickerman. Why won't she just shut up? She leads me down the hall and around the corner to a room that is set up with a meal. A real, proper meal. It takes every ounce of control I have to sit down politely and eat slowly and with utensils. The smell of roast pork, potatoes, and vegetables is almost overwhelming. I get through the meat before I think of Maysilee. She'll never eat again. Suddenly my appetite is gone. My rep pours us each a glass of some wine she's been going on about. It tastes bitter. It's dry, she says. A fine vintage. I don't like it, and don't drink any more. It's red and looks a little too much like blood.

Pomp and circumstance. That's what Dad calls all the hoopla the Capitol puts on. This interview is no different. I'm set in a crazily ornate chair with Flickerman to my left. I know what's coming next. I've watched this interview in the district square every year of my life. We get to review every kill. Because living it isn't enough, let's rehash everything. This is going to take forever. Most of the kills, obviously, weren't mine. A lot of the first few after the bloodbath were accidental poisonings: drinking the stream water, eating berries or fruit off the bushes and trees. Holy crap, were those damn squirrels ferocious. One kid from District 9 never saw it coming. The beast of a girl from 1 took out a fair share of the competition on her own. I make few comments to Flickerman. I've been keeping count in my head, because once we get somewhere into the last fifteen, Maysilee and I were together. There it is, the 34th kill. Maysilee saves me.

"Tell me about Maysilee Donner."

I know it's his job, but it's very difficult not to bite Flickerman's head clean off. I force my tone to be even. "She's from my home district."

"Had you trained with her beforehand?"

"No. I didn't train with anyone."

"Were you friends back home?"

"No, she…" Would have been completely untouchable even if I had possessed an interest in knowing her? "We ran in different circles."

"I see." We watched footage of the two of us downing the District 3s. "You seem to make a good team."

"We did." I can't stand talking about it this long. When is it going to be over?

Next, District 1 kills some boy, burying her ax in his head. I think about what his family is feeling now. What they felt when it happened. And now, the part I'd been dreading. I see myself and Maysilee parting ways. Then those putrid birds descend on her out of nowhere. The first one hits her lower abdomen, the next her right shoulder. Then her chest, between her breasts. I remember what her body felt like there, smooth and perfect. Next through her left thigh, her left shoulder, and finally, her neck. I'm fairly certain I'd kissed that very spot the night before. She had inhaled sharply when I did. Even the way she had breathed was intoxicating.

"Haymitch?" I blink. Shit, I'd missed something. What had Flickerman just said?

"I just stated that Maysilee seems special to you."

I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes and begin blinking rapidly, trying to force them back. An anger rises in me quicker than any I've felt before, and I burst out. "They were all special to someone! You sick fucks sit in your beautiful homes with your regular meals and tune in to watch the poor kids put axes in each others' brains. Forty-four families that loved those kids just watched them murdered on television again." I stand up and look out at the shocked audience. I'm sure the broadcast has been cut off by now. "You make me sick." And with that, I storm off the stage.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm not surprised when I'm met at the soundstage door by a set of Peacekeepers. It's clear I'm to follow them, and I do so without resistance. We only travel a few doors down the hallway, and I'm shoved unceremoniously into a dimly lit room. I am surprised, however, to discover it contains the one and only President Snow. He's seated behind a desk, twirling a pen between his fingers.

"Mr. Abernathy. Do have a seat."

As I approach the open chair, a faint fragrance of flowers meets my senses, as does an undercurrent of some metallic scent that turns my stomach. The president watches carefully as I do what I'm told.

"I knew you might cause me trouble the moment you arrived at that precipice, young man. You see, trying to win is the essence of the spirit of the Hunger Games, but trying to beat the game itself, thinking yourself above the rules? That's not good sportsmanship or good entertainment.

"Then that display at the end…quite clever, my dear boy, quite clever. But stunts like that make those behind the games look foolish, and foolish is not an adjective we want applied to the Capitol, is it?"

My eyes narrow. I'm not interested in making the Capitol look good. "I don't give two craps what adjectives are applied to the Capitol, Mr. President."

An amused grin tugs at the sides of Snow's mouth. "Yes, I'm very aware of that, hence why I thought we may need to have this little chat."

He leans forward over the desk. I suddenly place that other smell, and swallow hard. It's blood. I flash back to Maysilee, hemorrhaging a small volcano out her trachea, and me, leaving a thick trail of my own through the woods.

"My dear Mr. Abernathy, I don't think you quite appreciate the width and breadth of influence I hold. I have the power to make your life very unpleasant."

I smirk. "What are you going to do? Take your newest Quarter Quell victor and put me against a firing squad on national broadcast? Deny me the victor's spoils? Punish my district? I have a feeling that won't go over too well with all our adoring Hunger Games fans."

Snow chuckles. "Of course not. In some respects, appearances are everything. Very few people in this world actually care what is really happening."

I stand up. "Well, my dear President Snow, as enlightening as this has been, I'll excuse myself." I tip my head to the side, patronizingly. "With your permission, of course."

Snow gestures to the door, and I exit without a second look.

* * *

Just a day later, I'm on the train home. After my meeting with Snow, I was taken back to my room at the training facility, and excused from the traditional banquet and final interview due to a "sudden illness". As the countryside speeds by, I can't help being happy. I'm going home. Home to Heather and Dad. We're going to get a big house now, and be the only ones living in District 12's Victor's Village. It's going to be strange, but as long as I get to be with my family, I don't particularly care right now.

The train begins to slow as I recognize the scenery, and moments later we're pulling into the station near the square. Just a few more moments of pomp and circumstance, and we can go home. I see a crowd gathered, and immediately begin searching for my sister. She and Dad will be out there somewhere. I'm escorted out onto the platform, where the mayor gives a short speech, and I wave a lot. Finally, I spot Heather at the base of the platform. Her hair is pinned up in two braids, like always, but they're messy, with random locks falling over her shoulders. Heather's hair is never messy. She is as meticulous about her appearance and hygiene as one can be in the Seam. Her eyes look strange, too. Red. She's crying. Finally, I'm allowed to descend the stairs. I fly down them and into my sister's arms. She sobs openly into my shoulder.

"Heather, it's okay. I made it. I'm home."

She holds onto me, as if for dear life, and slowly quiets. After a moment, I look around.

"Heather, where's Dad?"

The eyes of everyone around fall to the dirt. Heather begins sobbing anew. Panic fills me. I push my sister to arm's length, looking for an answer. Her face is red and soaked by tears and her runny nose. She only shakes her head.

Hazelle Satterfield steps up beside me, placing a hand gently on my shoulder. "There was an accident, Haymitch." She says softly. "Last evening, in the mine. They rushed him to the apothecaries, but his wounds were too severe. He didn't make it. I'm sorry."

My mind is refusing to accept this. "What? No. There must be some mistake." I back up from everyone. Heather falls apart a third time, and Hazelle moves to hold her. "Where's Dad?"

The apothecary steps up, his blue eyes solemn. "We put him in the ground at sunrise this morning, son. He's next to your mother in the field near the border."

I'm beginning to shake. "No!" I scream. "You're wrong." Turning, I tear off toward our home. I did not survive that Hell in the Capitol to come home to this.

I reach our small house and tear open the door, almost removing it from its flimsy hinges. "Dad! Dad!" His workboots aren't sitting by the door. "Dad!" I open his drawer of our single dresser. There are a few mine uniforms in there, but what is missing is his single set of nice clothes. No, I think. But my feet carry me the quarter mile to the field where Seam residents are buried.

I know the location of my mother and Hallie well. As I approach, a third crude headstone sits next to Mom's. Jameson Abernathy. The dirt is fresh over the grave. I feel numb. How could this happen? Falling to the ground, I bury my head in my hands.

After some time, I hear footsteps approaching, but keep my head down. I don't want to talk to anyone. By the footfalls, I judge it's a girl. "Go away, Heather."

"It's not Heather." Before me stands Maysilee. No, it's not. At second glance, I notice the differences. She stands differently, carries herself differently, and looks at me differently.

"Melinda? What are you doing here?"

She looks down, hands clasped behind her dark pink dress. "I'm really sorry about your dad."

I glance again at the headstone. "Thanks."

There is an awkward silence, which Melinda breaks. "You were really nice to my sister. I wanted to say thank you." She pauses, then continues somewhat brokenly. "If it couldn't be her that came home, I'm glad it's you."

More tears threaten my eyes. For someone who hadn't cried since he was eleven, I've sure been doing my share lately. "I'm not sure that I am."

Melinda takes a deep breath, steadying herself. "Her funeral is tomorrow at sunrise at the cemetery in town. I wanted you to know you're welcome to come."

I look up at her, shocked. "She hasn't been buried yet?"

"No, her body came back with you on the train."

I feel sick again. I should have known they would have sent her corpse home with me. Snow probably put her right under my cabin. The other two from District 12 fell early and have likely been in the ground here for a week. I become angry thinking about Maysilee in a box in a dark compartment in the bottom of the train. Does her body still have those horrible puncture wounds, or do they fix them up before they send the children's cadavers home?

"Thank you, Melinda." Brushing the dirt off my pants, I stand up. She understands this dismissal and nods before making her way back toward town.

My steps take me back to my home. My old home, anyway. As I approach, I see Heather sitting at the table, looking out the window. Her hair is once again swept up immaculately. She looks like my mother. For a Seam girl, she's very pretty. I never understood why she never had any boyfriends. When she was still in school, I remember overhearing older boys talking about asking her out. If they did, she never said yes.

The sound of my hand turning the doorknob brings her attention to me and she stands and smiles slightly as I enter. We embrace and she holds me tightly.

"I love you, Mitch. I'm so glad you're back."

"Me too." Is all I can muster.

Heather lets go and gestures to a stack of boxes in the far corner by the beds. "So I guess we have to pack tonight. We move tomorrow, according to the Peacekeepers."

Our house contains very little. All the clothes we own fit into a box apiece. The Victors Village mansions come fully furnished, so even the beds and small table will stay. Heather chooses to keep a dress of our mother's, Hallie's favorite rattle, and our only pair of candlesticks: a wedding gift to our parents. I pack away our father's knife.

As Heather goes through the top cabinets, she stops short. "Haymitch. It's Dad's liquor."

I reach up and take the bottle from her as she hands it down. Dad had this bottle as long as I can remember, and never drank more than shot from it at a time. It's at least three-quarters full. Once after we got back from Mom's funeral, once after Hallie died.

"He drank from it the day you were reaped." Heather says softly.

I set it on the table, then grab two cups from the counter. "Come on down here."

Heather hops down and I pour a small amount into each. She looks at me skeptically. "I think today deserves more than a drop." And tips more into both. I take one and she the other. My sister is looking hard at me as she raises the cup. "To Dad."

I nod and tap her cup with mine. "To Dad." Heather shoots the liquor like I saw Dad do. It smells like cleaning chemicals, but I steel my nerves and do the same.

It tastes terrible and burns hard down my throat. "Bleh." Heather laughs.

We continue sorting our belongings, but fifteen minutes later, I become lightheaded. The house seems slightly off kilter, and I can't focus. "Heather?" I call.

She stumbles in the house, tripping over the entryway and almost loses her footing. Catching herself on the table, she starts giggling. "I think we had too much liquor, Haymitch."

My eyes widen. "Are we drunk?"

Heather cracks up. "I think so. Let's sit down for a bit."

I move, carefully, to the chair opposite hers. My feet don't want to work right. It is pretty funny. Everything seems funny. Thoughts of the Games don't cut me to the bone. I don't want to die when I think about Maysilee.

"Guess what?" Heather snickers.

"What?"

"We're rich. Us. Crazy rich." She starts laughing outright. So do I. It really is completely outrageous. My soul feels lighter than it has in a long time. I almost feel like a carefree kid again. We talk and laugh for what seems like a long time. Finally I look up, and Heather is starting to fall asleep. Her eyelids are so heavy.

"Let's get you to bed." She doesn't say a word, but her head drops to the table. I can feel myself sobering up. The weight of everything is beginning to settle on me again. My feet are steady as I move around the table and pick up my sister. She opens her eyes slightly as I carry her to bed.

"Haymitch," she whispers. "I was so scared watching you in the Capitol. I've never been so scared in my life. I kept saying you had to come home, you just had to come home, and you did."

I lay her gently down on the bed and kiss her forehead. "Yes I did. I came home for you."

Her eyes close and her breathing becomes steady. I lay down next to her, staring up at the wooden rafters of the ceiling. The dark scares me a bit, but Heather's presence keeps me from panicking. This is not at all how I had expected coming home to be.

I sleep very little and as soon as I see color on the horizon, I change my clothes as walk to the lot outside town where the merchants buried their dead.


	5. Chapter 5

A crowd is gathered around the Donner plot, and I feel like a complete outsider among the blonde-haired blue-eyed group. I find a tree within earshot of the proceedings and shimmy up, taking a seat on a sturdy branch.

Melinda and Lily, the apothecaries' daughter, are huddled together, weeping. Mr. Donner holds Mrs. Donner tightly. People speak about how Maysilee was so full of life and promise. How blessed we are that she was in our lives. I find it odd that while I knew Maysilee a much shorter time than these people, I knew her better and in a way no one here ever did. We shared something so unique and special, but no one would ever know.

How I wish I had stopped her from leaving at the cliff. I wish I told her that I wanted it to come down to the two of us, and if necessary, I'd have killed myself to send her home. She deserved to be here more than I. As everyone disperses, I hear a noise and look down. Heather is climbing up and takes a seat beside me. Thankfully, she says nothing for a long time. Then she reaches over and takes my hand.

"I know you loved her, Haymitch. It's okay."

Later, our few boxes are moved to our new home. Heather goes from room to room, marveling over the size and beauty of everything. I nod and agree, but honestly I think it's just gaudy and showy. I let her decide where everything goes, since I really don't care. After our things are settled, we sit out on the front porch.

"It's creepy that we don't have any neighbors." I observe.

"Yeah. I've been thinking what I'm going to do now that I don't have to work."

"Have a life?"

She laughs. "Maybe. I think I'm going to volunteer at the school."

It's my turn to laugh. "So you're going to work, just not get paid."

"Yeah, I guess. What are you going to do?"

"At first? Absolutely nothing. Or whatever I want."

She smiles at me. "You'll get bored of that real quick. You need a hobby."

"Like what?"

"I dunno, raising geese or something."

I laugh. "I don't think so."

* * *

Of course, she's right. After a day of sitting around with nothing but my own terrible thoughts, I take to wandering. First the perimeter of the District, then into town. People treat me differently, now. Men walk up and shake my hand. Girls saunter seductively and bat their eyelashes. It's like I've returned to a different District 12.

I meet Heather on her break one day and take her to the bakery. Bran Mellark, the baker's son, is running the shop. He's Heather's age, and has always been nice to us. Bran looks up as we enter.

"Haymitch, Heather! Hi!"

"Hello, Bran!" Heather greets him cheerfully.

"What can I do for you?"

Heather looks at me, and I gesture to the counter. "Anything you want." I have the largest amount of money I've ever possessed in my pocket, and it's just a fraction of my total wealth.

I know that I want a sugar cookie, but she takes her time, asking Bran about various products, making small talk, and laughing. Then it hits me. She has a crush on the baker's son. So I watch their interaction. He's a nice guy, nicer than a lot of merchant kids are to Seam kids. I can see why she would like him, but it's not a practical match. Seam girls don't marry up into the merchant class. It just doesn't happen.

She's finally narrowed her selections down to a chocolate cookie with peanut butter and a cinnamon bun. I realize the only other time she's purchased from this shop is when she saved up a week's pay to buy me a cookie for my 13th birthday. I step up to the counter.

"We'll take them both."

My sister looks at me, shocked. "Both? No, we can't do that."

I take a wad of money out of my pocket and toss it on the counter. "Why not?"

"Because! One is a treat, two would be…"

"Wrap them up, please, Bran." I cut her off with a nod to him, and he obeys with a small smile. Bran hands me the small paper bag holding three items and my change.

"You didn't have to do that, Mitch." She tells me as we sit underneath a tree behind the bakery.

"I know." I agree as I opened the bag to split our spoils. "You deserve nice things. If you want two sweets, I'll get you two sweets."

She smiles as she starts into the cookie. "Thank you."

I've never been one for tact, so I just get to the point. "You like him. Bran."

Her eyes get wide, and she almost spits out the peanut butter – chocolate bite. "What?"

"Come on, I saw you in there."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Heather, it's me, I know these things."

She looks at the ground. "I know it's stupid. He's been in love with Lily forever. She's so pretty. He deserves someone like that."

I put down my sugar cookie. "What? If he was really smart he'd want you instead of some merchant bimbo. You're beautiful and smart and work hard. Who wouldn't want that?"

She turned furiously red. "I am not."

"You are too. Tons of guys were interested in you at school."

"I don't know, they just weren't right. They were all average in every regard. I want someone special."

I can't argue that she deserves someone special. I decide to start looking for someone worthy of her.

After she goes back to the school, I continue around town. There's an old building people call the Hob, where mildly shady trading takes place. I wander around the vendor's stalls, but everyone knows my face and looks at me suspiciously. I cut between an illegally hunted meat stand and a man selling bootleg oil and slide out the back door.

* * *

I more or less settle into a routine. Nights are still hard for me, so I never sleep before 4:00am. I wake around 11:00 or noon, walk into town and have lunch with Heather. Sometimes I shop in the afternoons, other times I just people-watch. More often than not, I end up at Maysilee's grave.

Sometimes I talk to her, sometimes I just sit. She's the only one that would understand why I can't sleep in the dark, or my compulsion to carry my father's knife at all times, or why I just can't seem to fit back in here.

Sometimes girls approach me. Girls that wouldn't have given me the time of day if I'd never gone to the Games. None of them are as pretty or smart as Maysilee. I'll talk with them for a while, but when they realize I'm not interested, they leave quickly.

I often have nightmares. Sometimes they occur before Heather leaves for school, sometimes they don't. Several times a week I awake screaming at some horror; most of the time it's Maysilee. She gets attacked by squirrels, she falls off the cliff, District 1 gets her with the ax. More and more often, my sister is there, with gentle words to calm me down. One such time, I scream for Maysilee not to go into the woods, but another tribute is there and he slices her open down the middle.

"Haymitch, sweetheart, wake up. You're home." Heather's voice draws me into the present and my eyes snap open. Her big grey eyes are staring right into mine. She tucks stray hairs behind my ears while my breathing and heart rate return to normal. A glass of water sits next to the bed. The clock reads 10:00am.

"Heather, it's Thursday, why aren't you at school?"

She chuckles. "I've been going in at 10:30 for the last month."

I'm puzzled. "Why?"

The water is placed in my hand. "Because you need me."

Guilt washes over me, and I'm ashamed to be a burden. "You shouldn't have to do that."

Her hand forces my chin up so I'm looking her in the eye. "This house, these things, this money. We have it all because they made you live a hell no person, let alone a seventeen-year-old, should have to face." A tear falls from the corner of her right eye. "If that means I go in at 10:30 so I can be here when you need me, then that's what I'll do. I love you."

I don't deserve that kind of love.

* * *

Thanks so much for reading this far! Leave me some comments!


	6. Chapter 6

I know it's coming up - the Victory Tour - but it's so sickening to think of that I push it to the back of my mind and hope it never comes. It will, of course. All the cameras and the fake people will come back and take me away again. I get panic attacks thinking about it sometimes. Of course, my sister rides them out with me. I am the most selfish, terrible brother ever. If she didn't have to worry about me, she'd probably already be married with babies. She'd be happy. Instead, she's babysitting an eighteen-year-old that should be able to get through a night on his own.

One time, while she was at school, I started getting anxious. I went into the top cabinet in the kitchen and pulled down Dad's liquor bottle. I poured a shot into a cup and threw it back. In a few minutes, I felt relaxation creep through my veins. The cup was thoroughly washed and put back. If Heather ever found out, she hasn't said anything about it.

A week out from the tour, I made a decision. My sister was coming with me. The idea of being without her for so long was an anxiety attack in itself. I might be able to face the Capitol if she were there. Gimma, my district rep, arrives the day before to go over logistics with me. She sits at the kitchen table with me and Heather. My sister is distracted by Gimma's pale green hair, pounds of makeup, and long painted nails.

"So," she begins excitedly, tapping her fuchsia stilettos on the wood floor. "Tomorrow we'll begin with you at home, then you saying goodbye to your sister, then-"

"Heather is coming with me." I state.

Gimma and Heather are startled.

"What?" Heather demands.

"I'm sorry?" Gimma inquires.

I sit forward, eyes on the Capitol woman. "I've decided. I'm not leaving unless my sister is coming with me."

She looks at me, puzzled. "This is highly irregular, I'll have to check with my superiors."

"Check all you want. Tell them I'm not coming without Heather."

Gimma pulls out a small flip phone and steps outside to call the Capitol.

Heather is staring at me. "Haymitch, have you lost your mind?"

"I can't go away and leave you." I lower my voice. "Heather, I can't make it that long alone. It scares me too much. Please."

Her expression softens. "But I don't know anything about being in the Capitol."

I lean closer, conspiratorially. "Neither do I."

Gimma returns. "She may come, but she will not be in any camera shots or on any stages with you."

I nod. "Deal."

My anxiety lessens significantly. Within two hours, Heather has been measured for clothes and has two new travel outfits for the train tour. She's been given a new pair of shoes and a large bag of makeup supplies. My stylist arrives tomorrow and she will finish our preparations in the morning.

Gimma departs after giving us a rundown of the next day. Heather collapses into a kitchen chair.

"Oh my goodness. This is overwhelming."

Honestly, I'm just so glad I won't be going alone. I reach over and take her hand. "Thank you, for this."

She smiles at me and squeezes my hand in return. "You're welcome. Now let's make some dinner."

Heather wakes me up early the next morning. "They're here. I have a bath ready for you." Her damp hair suggests she's been up and already bathed. I groan and go to turn over, but she strips the blanket from the bed. "Up. Now." I hear her footsteps hurry down the stairs to answer the door like a perfect hostess.

The bath water is warm and I try not to linger, putting off the inevitable chaos that is waiting for me downstairs. I dress quickly and head down into the madness.

Gimma is giving directions to everyone. Two of my stylist's team have my sister in the downstairs bathroom, and from the sounds emitting from there, I'm guessing she's getting hair removal done. My stylist greets me with a kiss on each cheek, then sends me upstairs with the last prep person for touchups on my eyebrows and nails. I always hated this stuff. It feels very girly. After my cuticles are cleaned up, my nails even and smooth, haircut evened and stray eyebrows plucked, I'm sent back downstairs.

My stylist takes me into the living room, which is now full of clothes. She sizes me up, then hands me a pair of pants, a button-down shirt and a blazer. I scarcely glance at them, but dress as I'm told. A black pair of socks and black shiny shoes are waiting for me when I finish. I'm tying them as the first floor bathroom door opens. The two preps squeal and clap their hands. Even my stylist is taken aback when my sister steps out. Heather is stunning.

She is in two-inch heels, formal but not shocking. A grey wool pencil skirt, a light blouse, and a wool jacket that ties at the waist are simple and sophisticated, but won't make her the center of attention at an event. Her hair is swept up behind her head and light makeup brings out her eyes.

"Perfection." States my stylist, approaching her. "If only you were my star. You look lovely, my dear." Heather smiles, nervously.

Gimma has the camera crew ready. "Let's keep on schedule, everyone! "

After a million faked smiles and a thousand waves, we finally get to board the train. Heather follows behind me, taking in the lavish décor. Our bags are placed in our rooms, next door to each other. As we enter the dining room for dinner, I think my sister's eyes might pop out of her head. A generous meal is ready at the table, the likes of which only the Capitol can provide. Stews, cooked vegetables, breads, and several kinds of meat are piled high. Like a gentleman, I pull out a chair for my sister as everyone settles in and the trip begins. The Capitol people gossip about social goings on and parties we'll be attending. Heather stays quiet, eating slowly with perfect etiquette.

"Haymitch." Gimma gets my attention. "Your sister is the very picture of a polite, lovely young woman. I find it difficult to believe you came from the same household."

One of my stylist's team speaks up. "She's so lovely, if only she were our victor."

Heather sets her fork down gently. "I would have gladly taken my brother's place. However, if that had happened, the girl from District One would have likely prevailed and you would all be watching this from your televisions at home." She takes her napkin from her lap and sets it on her plate. "Please excuse me." My sister stands quickly and strides carefully out of the room.

Silence sits heavily around the table. I rise. "I'll talk to her."

She sits on the bed in her room, ankles crossed, wringing her hands. "I shouldn't have done that."

I take a seat next to her. "Why?"

"I caused a scene." Her fists ball in her lap. "It just made me so mad when they were talking about how they wished it were me. You've been through so much and I wish I could have taken it away from you but I was too old to volunteer, plus I was a girl." Her eyes well up. "Every damn year I stood there at the reaping. Begging, pleading with fate to leave you alone. We'd been through too much. We'd lost Mama and Hallie, they couldn't take you away, as well. I thought we were almost out of the woods. You were seventeen." She brings her fists to her eyes. "I thought I was going to lose my mind when they called your name. I'm your big sister, I'm supposed to protect you. Instead, I had to watch you fight for your life on television. Every close call, my heart stopped. I barely slept or ate. At the end, when you got hurt, I was screaming. They couldn't take you from me! Hazelle and Dad were trying to calm me down. I thought I was going to watch that bitch cut you to pieces!"

Heather is beginning to hyperventilate and she is shaking. Tears are streaming down her face. I stand up and pull her to me. She buries her face in my shoulder and I wrap my arms around her tightly. "I'm here now."

She nods, silently. After she has calmed, I take the stylish handkerchief placed in my pocket and wipe the tears and smeared makeup from her face.

"Let's forget them for tonight." I said, gesturing toward the dining car. "Come with me."

I lead her back through several cars before coming to the rear one. Out the back door is a small platform with a rail. It offers fresh air and a great view of the countryside.

"Oh, Mitch, this is nice." She leans against the rail and feels the setting sun on her face. The wind rips a few hairs out of her knot and they swirl around her. We stay out there until the last streaks of light leave the horizon.

* * *

Please take the time to leave a review! Thanks! -sc


	7. Chapter 7

Our first stop is District Eleven. The sheer size of the district is impressive. I'm met on stage by Chaff, their most recent victor, from the games five years ago. He's a very tall, friendly guy, who lost a hand to a District Two competitor with a machete. He also keeps a small flask in his back pocket which he sips from discreetly. After the ceremonies and speeches, there is a reception in the Justice Building. Heather is getting her makeup redone for the evening, so I enter the hall alone. Only a few of the guests have arrived yet, and I look for a familiar face when I see Chaff approaching.

"The man of the hour!" He shakes my hand with his good one. "Before things get going, let's take a walk." Slightly puzzled, I follow his lead. He moves quickly up a series of staircases and down a number of hallways before turning to me.

"Are you wearing a microphone?" He whispers. I shake my head. He checks the collar of my shirt and my jacket pocket anyway before nodding. "This way." We go up a ladder, through a trapdoor, and into the top of the domed building.

"I'm sorry about the trek, but we're safe to talk here. I just wanted to say it was really smart to keep your sister with you on the tour, especially after what happened to your father. I was sorry to hear about him, by the way."

I am completely confused. "What do you mean, after what happened to my father? He was killed in a mine accident."

Chaff looks surprised that I haven't pieced this together. "On the day before you got home? A mine accident where only one man got killed and one woman injured? That didn't strike you as convenient?"

"I…I…" I actually haven't asked any details about my father's accident. "You think it was set up?"

"Look, man, I've been around the Capitol long enough to know when something smells funny, you know? And after the way things went with the end of the games and your interview, you've gotta be on their shit list."

Snow's words come back to me. _Appearances are everything. Very few people in this world actually care what is really happening_. I put my fingers to my temples. I got my dad killed. I pissed off Snow, and so he killed my dad.

Chaff looks at me knowingly. "They said something, didn't they? Something that makes more sense now."

I just nod, numb.

"Like I said, it's real smart you've got your sister here where you can keep an eye on her."

Heather. Heather could be in danger. A complete panic surfaces. I move quickly toward the trapdoor. "I've gotta get back to her." I am able to retrace our steps down to the hall just in time to see Heather enter from the other side in a lovely deep red party dress. She spots me and smiles. I try to return it, but the corners of my mouth won't respond.

I don't leave her side all evening, with the exception of granting her a dance with Chaff. She hasn't danced before, but Chaff is a good leader and he has her laughing as they spin past me. I like him very much for being so good to her.

At the conclusion of the evening, everyone is dispersing, and I take my sister's arm, pretending to head back toward the train, but instead steer her up the stairs I had taken with Chaff earlier. I motion for her to be quiet and return through the trapdoor into the dome again.

"Haymitch, what is going on? What are we doing up here?"

"Tell me about Dad's accident."

"What? Mitch, I don't understand."

"Tell me about the accident!" I say more forcefully.

She thinks back. "Umm, he was down a part of a tunnel alone when a gas leak ignited. There was an explosion."

I look her in the eye. "Can you think of any other mine explosion that only killed one man and didn't collapse any tunnels?"

She is confused. "Well, no. One other miner was injured and lost her arm, Ripper was her name."

I close my eyes. Chaff is right. "Okay, Heather. Let's get back before they start looking for us."

From that moment on, my sister doesn't leave my sight. I stay in her room at night. During ceremonies, she is placed in my line of sight off stage. I can tell everyone thinks I'm crazy, but I don't care.

I lie in bed next to her after visiting District Seven. She leaves the light on for me because I hate the dark.

"Haymitch, what happened at District Eleven?" She is facing me and staring me down with eyes like I remember my mother having.

I lower my voice. "Heather, I pissed a lot of people off in the Capitol at the end of the Games. I think they might have had something to do with Dad's accident."

"Oh, Mitch. You can't shoulder the burden of the accident. Mining is dangerous work and things happen."

"Not like that they don't. Big sections of tunnel cave in, or flammable gases light up huge areas. Lots of people die, not just one. And if they could do that to Dad, something bad could happen to you."

She looks at me skeptically.

"You think I'm crazy, too? I know everyone else does."

My sister sighs. "No. You're not crazy. You take too much responsibility on yourself."

"No, Heather. You won't talk me out of this. I've lost everyone else. I will not lose you. I won't."

She nods, acquiescing, and turns over to go to sleep. I stare at the white ceiling. Maybe I am crazy. Maybe it's all in my head, but I can't risk it. I can't lose the only thing I have left.


	8. Chapter 8

Home. We get home today. It's all I can think about. We made it through the Tour, and my sister and I are going home.

It wasn't easy keeping an eye on Heather, especially at the Capitol reception at Snow's mansion. Everyone wanted to talk to me, and it was so crowded. I was pleased that Chaff had made the trip from Eleven, since he was the only person I trusted to watch her. While I was tied up making small talk and pretending to be interested in everything, he stayed with her, made her laugh, and even danced a few numbers. Several men asked me who the lovely young lady was, watching her with lewd interest until I declared she was my sister and not available after the party.

"I'm glad Chaff could make it tonight." She states as we walked back to our rooms. "It was nice seeing a familiar face among all those 'surgically enhanced' ones."

I laugh. "Did you see the one woman that was bright pink from head to toe? Eyes and everything?"

She laughs, too. "How could you miss her?"

"We get to go home tomorrow."

Her eyes light up. "I know! I can't wait. Every moment here is planned, it's exhausting."

I take her hand. "Thanks again for coming with me. I wouldn't have made it without you."

She smiles. "I'll always be here for you, Haymitch."

* * *

In District Twelve, we have a dinner at the Mayor's house, then the Harvest Festival tomorrow. We've packed up our belongings, and step out onto the platform at Gimma's urging. The winter air is biting, and a light dusting of snow covers the ground. Heather pulls her jacket closed. We are shepherded straight to the Mayor's for dinner.

There are a lot of people there. As the meal progresses, I notice Melinda Donner next to the Undersee's son. She seems content, but excuses herself shortly before dessert. The Mellarks are here, and Bran sits with his parents; though the apothecary and his wife are in attendance, Lily is nowhere to be found. I requested that Hazelle Satterfield be invited, for Heather, and she has brought Cliff Hawthorne.

Heather catches up with Hazelle, and also has a short conversation with Bran before we head home.

"So!" she begins as we turn on the road to the Victor's Village. Our boots crunch on the frozen ground as light flakes of snow fall. "Hazelle got me caught up on the latest goings-on. Turns out, Lily up and ran off with Archer Everdeen!"

I raise an eyebrow. Everdeen lived a few houses down from us in the Seam. Lily was clearly the most eligible girl in town. "Really?" I'm having trouble picturing Lily moving to the Seam.

"I know! I guess it's quite the scandal. And Cliff has been spending a lot of time with Hazelle, she says she thinks he might propose!"

I've never been close with Hawthorne, but he seems like a decent guy. "Good for her."

"Oh, and Melinda Donner is going to marry William Undersee. In the spring, I think."

"That's nice."

Our front steps are covered in snow. As we open the door, Heather grabs the broom she keeps right inside the door and returns outside to clear them. I remove my coat and boots and turn on the lights in the kitchen. On the table sits a single white rose, and it smells like blood. My heart stops. I run back to the front door, but Heather is fine, finishing the steps. Slightly shaken, I crush the blossom in my hand and bury it in the bottom of the trash can.

The next day is the Harvest Festival. Everyone will be in town, and with my victory, there will be plenty of food for everybody. At least something good came out of all this. It's unseasonably warm today, and the snow is melting in slushy piles everywhere. A few guys from the Seam brought their guitars and fiddles and have lively dance music going. Peacekeepers are scattered around unobtrusively, a few around the perimeter of the square and one by the refreshment table. Heather is very excited to be home. She quickly meets up with Hazelle, who is standing next to Hawthorne. I shake Cliff's hand and make small talk while the girls chatter. After a few minutes, Hazelle drags Cliff out to dance. A moment later, Bran Mellark appears on Heather's other side. His large hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he kicks at pebbles with his shoes.

"Hey, Heather."

My sister lights up. "Hi, Bran."

His blue eyes fix on the ground in front of him. He's nervous. "Would you…I mean, if you're not busy, or…you know, want to dance?"

My sister looks up at Bran with a radiant smile. "I'd love to."

Bran glances quickly at me, as though for approval. I nod, hiding a grin. Heather has to be ecstatic right now. He grins and bows gentlemanly before escorting her into the center of the square. I start to think that maybe, just maybe, I've been overly paranoid. We've made it back home, and we're fine. The guy of my sister's dreams just asked her to dance.

"Haymitch." I turn. Flint Satterfield saunters up. I shake his hand. "How's it going?"

"Fine." I don't elaborate. "How about yourself?"

"Same. The mine is keeping me pretty busy."

"I'll bet. How's Ash? I haven't seen him much lately."

"He's on my team in the mine. He's fine, been spending most of his free time with the Reinharts' daughter, Birch."

"Nice. Looks like Cliff and your sister are getting serious."

"Yeah, he's a good guy. And Hazelle is crazy about him. Say, did you hear about Archer Everdeen?"

I laugh. "Getting Lily? Yeah. Hazelle was telling Heather about it."

"That lucky bastard. Can't believe she's moving to the Seam. Would have figured she'd stay with a townie, like Melinda Donner did."

I realize I haven't seen Melinda all evening. "Speaking of, what's up with Melinda? She's never around for very long."

Flint nods. "Rumor has it she's sick all the time now. Migraines. They started shortly after Maysilee…you know."

"Yeah." Just hearing her name is like a knife to my heart.

The music stops as the band takes a break. Hazelle and Heather return with glasses of cider.

"So, did you have fun?" Flint prods with a smile.

Hazelle elbows her brother. "Yes. And if you weren't such a jerk, you'd have a girl to dance with, too."

Heather furrows her brow and places a hand on her chest.

"Are you okay?" I ask quickly.

"I feel strange." She immediately doubles over and vomits up blood.

"Oh my God." Says Hazelle. "Get the apothecaries!"

Heather vomits again. I don't wait. The apothecary shop isn't fifty feet away. I scoop up my sister and run. She's coughing and blood is running down her front. She's gasping for breath. I kick in the door to the shop and take her to the back room where patients are treated. The apothecary is on my heels. He switches on the lights and grabs a tray of instruments. When my sister sits up to vomit again, he hands her a small container. Her mouth is quickly examined with a flashlight and an angled mirror.

"What has she had to eat or drink tonight?"

"Nothing! Well, I don't think anything but cider. Heather, did you have anything but that cider tonight?"

She shakes her head, tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes.

The apothecary quickly mixes some herbs with a thick liquid and shakes up the concoction. He hands it to Heather. "Try to drink this, slowly." He turns to me. "I need to speak to you privately." The man's gaze is deadly serious.

"Hazelle?" I call. She enters from the front room. "Stay with her, I'll be right back."

I am led out back. "It appears your sister ingested some sort of poison. It's corroding her esophagus, and causing her to bleed into her stomach."

I try to quell the panic rising within me. "So what do we have to do?"

"I gave her a mixture that counteracts many minor toxins but I can't see far enough inside to determine the strength of the poison or the extent of the damage already done. It may well be into her system, wearing away holes and causing internal bleeding."

"How do we stop it?" I cry.

"I can't tell yet if she's bleeding internally. If she's not, and this elixir works, she may be all right. If she is bleeding, there isn't anything anyone can do."

I feel paralyzed. Somehow, I force my feet to take me back inside. Hazelle is gently rubbing Heather's back as she coughs up more blood. The container looks like it's been filled and emptied again.

"Sir?" Hazelle asks the apothecary. "She hasn't stopped."

"I feel dizzy." Heather croaks. She's gone deathly pale.

He takes out a black band and fastens it to my sister's arm. Attached is a small pump, which he uses to inflate the band. Then he listens through an earpiece as he slowly deflates it. He looks at me, shaking his head.

"Out." I demand. "Everybody out."

"Haymitch," Hazelle starts.

"I said out!" I scream.

As the door closes behind them, I see Heather's eyes rolling back as she starts to pass out.

"Heather. Heather, stay with me." I cup her face in my hands and she tries to focus on me.

"Haymitch, I'm tired."

"I know, sweetheart." I carefully lay her down on the examination table.

"Why is this happening? Am I going to die?"

At that, I completely break down. Tears and sobbing like when I was seven and my mother died.

"You can't, Heather, you can't. I need you."

"Oh, Haymitch. You are so strong. You got through the Games. You'll be fine. I'm so proud of you."

"No. I can't do it. I can't carry it all. I can't be all alone."

Her breathing becomes labored. She reaches out a pale hand and touches my cheek. "You need to find a purpose, Mitch. I know you're struggling, but I believe in you."

"You're the only thing I have left."

Her eyes leave mine for a moment, and she coughs up even more blood. "I can feel it. I don't have long." She finds me again. "I love you so much, Haymitch." The words are clearly difficult for her now. "More than anything in my entire life."

"I love you, too." I squeak.

She smiles briefly before her eyes close and her breathing slows.

"Heather?" I ask tentatively, then again, louder. "Heather?"

The apothecary steps in quietly, moving to her side and placing his fingers on the side of her neck.

"Heather! Heather, no! You can't leave me!" She can't leave. She has to come back and go home with me. I can't face every nightmare alone.

"She's gone, son."

"No!" I scream. "She can't be gone! She can't! I need her!" I grab her limp hand. "Heather, come back to me."

The door opens and Hazelle slips in. Her hand goes to cover her mouth and her eyes well with tears.

I am still begging my sister to return. Flint follows Hazelle in and stands solemnly by the door. The apothecary scribbles on a piece of paper.

"Satterfield, run this to the undertaker, please."

"No!" I shriek, even as Flint accepts the paper and departs. "She can't be gone! She can't!" An empty glass container sits on the table. I grab it and throw it against the wall, where it shatters.

"Calm down, boy. I know you're hurting."

"You don't know anything. None of you know anything!" I run out the front door of the shop, pushing through the small crowd that has gathered there, and don't stop until I reach our house. My house. I don't even take my shoes off, but go straight to the kitchen and open the cabinets. Anything breakable is flung across the room. I just want to destroy everything.

I stop when my hand falls on Dad's liquor bottle. Slowly, I take it to the table with an unbroken glass. Brushing broken shards off the chair, I sit down, and carefully pour a generous shot. _This one's for you, Heather_. I take the shot, and enjoy the unpleasant burning. I deserve something unpleasant. I pour another. _This one's for Dad._ And another. _Maysilee_. And another. _Hallie. _And another. _Mom._ And another. _The other tributes from District Twelve. The kid that got his head split open by District One. That girl that died drinking the water. The three that got mauled by the devil squirrels. The five that ate the fruit off the trees._

I lose my balance and fall off the chair onto the glass-covered floor. My head is pounding, but the emotional weight doesn't seem so heavy right now. The room is spinning. Maybe I'll die too. I want that now more than ever. But then there's a voice. More than one. I'm being lifted up and taken somewhere. The bathroom. Why? I'm in front of the toilet. A glass of water is next to me. Water does sound good. I sip some, and my head falls to rest on the rim. A few minutes later, I realize why I'm in the bathroom; I vomit violently.

"Drink more water." I'm instructed. I continue the painstaking process of rehydrating myself and purging the alcohol. When I empty one glass, another is brought. I feel like torturous hours have passed. Finally, I have the wits to look up and see my company. Bran Mellark sits on a chair next to the sink, watching me. "Drink more."

Hazelle pokes her head in. "How's he doing?"

"Better." Bran replies, running a hand through his sandy hair.

"Good. He downed at least half of that bottle, I was worried. The kitchen's cleaned up. I've got to run back into town, is there anything else you want me to do?"

Bran shakes his head and Hazelle departs.

"Why are you two here?"

"Why am I here or why is she here?"

"Both."

"She's here to help you pick an outfit for your sister tomorrow. Since you were indisposed, she took the liberty."

"And you?"

"I'm here because I thought you might off yourself, and Heather wouldn't want that."

I took another swig of water. "How would you know what she'd want?"

Bran is look straight at me. "Because she was the most kindhearted person I knew, and you were the thing she loved the most."

I vomit again. I almost feel like I could move.

"Now hold still while I look at your head. You fell into some glass on the floor." He takes a warm, wet cloth to my temple. It stings. I notice several cuts on my arm as well, and pick a shard of glass out of one.

I finish the water in front of me and Bran hands me the cloth for my arm while he refills my cup.

"It's 3:30 now. In a few minutes, you should be able to move to the couch in the sitting room. Get some rest. Hazelle and Flint will be by early to take you to the cemetery."


	9. Chapter 9

The funeral is surreal. Four Abernathy gravestones, all lined up. Hallie, Hannah, Jameson, and now Heather. The only one missing is me. No one seems to know how to treat me. Flint and Hazelle stand next to me, and Bran is nearby, but everyone else seems hesitant to get too close. I don't even pay attention to what is being said. The cold has returned and a few snowflakes fall from a dreary grey sky. The naked trees look like skeletons sticking out of the frozen ground.

After the ceremony, people me offer words of consolation and I shake their hands emptily. I'm not even listening to them. Hazelle wants to walk me home, but I wave her off after everyone else has left.

The earth is cold as I sit down, facing my family. I let the chill soak into me. It matches how I feel. I begin shivering after a while, but just lay down next to Heather. I need to go be with her. Freezing to death won't take long in this weather. It's snowing a little harder now. Soon, I keep thinking. It'll be over soon. My exhaustion allows me to fall in and out of a restless sleep.

I don't know how much time passes before I'm vaguely aware of being moved. I'm slung over a shoulder; a warm shoulder. I'm shivering uncontrollably now. Indoors. It feels stifling hot. My wet clothes are peeled off and replaced with clean, dry ones and a large number of blankets. I pass out, and when I awake, a mug of tea and a sugar cookie lay on the table beside the bed.


	10. Chapter 10

The day of the reaping for the 51st Hunger Games arrives. I wake early, and take my usual breakfast of two shots of white liquor. Just so the pain isn't crushing. I finished Dad's bottle three months ago. This one I bought from Ripper at the Hob. I figure she deserves my business, since it's my fault she's missing an arm.

I reach the town center, suitcase in hand, and the anxiety creeps up on me again. One year ago, I was filed in here like so many are today. I had a sister and a father. I had normal problems, like math class. Now two more kids will have their lives ripped from them.

I ascend to the stage in my place of honor. Applause breaks out. I wave half-heartedly and just take my seat. Gimma is all smiles and strange fashion. I'm just trying not to have a panic attack up here. I pick at my fingers while all the crap is read. Finally, the drawing of the names.

"Leah Reinhart." I look up. Leah looks very young. I'm guessing by where she's standing that she's 13. She does a good job of acting brave, walking purposefully to the stage while tears leak out of her eyes and down her olive skin. Gimma reaches into the second bowl.

"Trenton Robinson." Another Seam kid. Age 15. I see the fear in his face that I'm sure I wore last year. I want to tell him it will be okay, but I know it won't. As the newest tributes get their final words with their loved ones, Gimma checks on me.

"Haymitch, have you packed for the trip?"

"I brought a few things, yeah." I had thrown a few outfits from my time in the capitol plus my bottle into the suitcase.

She nods curtly. "I'll have the stylists look things over in the train, we'll want to keep you up on the latest in Capitol fashion, but some of what you have may be sufficient. Meet you at the platform in twenty minutes."

I turn and begin to make my way toward the station when I'm joined by a face I haven't seen in a while.

"Ash." I greet my old friend.

Ash Prentice extends his hand, which I shake. "Haymitch. I know it's been a while. How have you been?"

_Shitty,_ is what I want to say. "Hanging in there." Is what comes out of my mouth.

"Listen, I hate to do this to you, but I'm marrying Birch next month, and her baby sister is the one that just got reaped. I just wanted to say…I'd really appreciate it if you could take her under your wing, just, teach her as much as you can. I know it's a long shot, but, it would mean a lot to me."

I nod. "It's my job now to give them the best possible shot. I'll do everything I can, okay?"

Ash smiles. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."

I continue on my way. Maybe this is the purpose Heather was pointing me toward. Maybe I can help District 12 tributes have a fighting chance.

I stifle a laugh as Leah and Trenton enter the train and see the trappings of the Capitol throughout. I was just as wide-eyed a year ago. At dinner, I assure them I'll do everything I can to help them succeed.

We watch tapes of the other tributes later that evening. The Careers look very formidable. There is a lot of analysis on the Capitol channels. I try and take in as much information as possible. District 12 is not getting much attention, since our tributes are quite young. I stay up all night taking notes on the other districts and making suggestions for things to focus on during training.

I train Trenton and Leah together. We work on survival skills, improving reflexes, and hand-to-hand combat. These are the things that saved me at the Quell. They aren't as fast as me, but they try hard. Leah has a bit of adoration in her grey eyes around me, hanging on my every word. I can't believe how young she is. She brings me a flower on the last day of training.

Her eyes avoid mine. "Thanks for being such a great mentor, Haymitch."

I take the carnation slowly. "Leah, this is so nice. You didn't have to. Thank you." I force the emotion threatening to boil up back under the surface and look her straight in the eye. "I will do my very best to help you while you're in there."

She nods, then throws her arms around me. I gingerly reciprocate the hug. "I know you'll do everything you can, Haymitch."

That night and early the next morning, I attend all the mentor functions, and talk to every person that will listen about supporting the tributes from 12. They all say the same thing. Once the bloodbath is over, they will be interested in showing support.

The next morning, Leah gets slashed in half by a machete and Trenton gets shot through the chest with an arrow within the first three minutes of the 51st Hunger Games.

* * *

Jenny Forrester and Hunter James are also killed in the bloodbath of the 52nd Hunger Games.

Kelly Garner and Jimmy Walsh don't leave the cornucopia of the 53rd Hunger Games.

I try not to remember their names after that. It's just too painful when they die so soon after. People in the district stop talking to me. I was able to win my own Games, but can't seem to help any of their children. The only good thing about the Games is that I get to see Chaff. Once our tributes are dead, we retreat a room and get completely smashed. Sometimes Chaff calls girls in. I usually decline, but one year, a girl of slight build and curly blonde hair enters. My breath catches. Chaff retires to his room with a dark-skinned girl with bright red hair, leaving me and the blonde alone.

"I heard you like blondes." She states, sauntering toward me.

I'm pretty drunk, but not completely out of it. I lick my lips. "Do you mind if I call you Maysilee?"

She smirks. "Not at all. Whatever you want, Haymitch."

I reach over and take a long drink from my bottle. "Then come on over, sweetheart."

* * *

Thanks again for reading! Please leave a review! Love, SC


	11. Chapter 11

Okay, here's the end! Instead of two super-short chapters, it's one kinda-short one. A thousand thank-yous to those who have reviewed, and if you're reading but haven't reviewed, please take just a minute to tell me what you think! I appreciate it!

* * *

So many years pass. Bran Mellark marries the carpenter's nasty daughter. Hazelle and Cliff Hawthorne start a family. Flint Satterfield's daughter freezes to death in the 66th Hunger Games with most of the others. Flint, Cliff, and Archer Everdeen are killed in a mining accident. It just makes me want to drink more. Escape faster.

Melinda and William Undersee have a daughter that they name after Maysilee. I wonder if Maysilee and I had a daughter what she would look like. Preferably more like Maysilee than me. I'd muddy the gene pool with my dark hair and grey eyes. I see little Madge outside her house one afternoon on my way to the Hob. I see a lot of Maysilee in her. The sight of me frightens the child and she runs back inside the Undersee house, pink hair ribbons bouncing behind her. Figures. The sight of me isn't a pleasant thing these days.

I go straight to the cemetery and sit with Madge's aunt. She probably wouldn't recognize me anymore. I'm nearing 40. My skin is sallow and my hair is graying. I'm ugly. Not that I was terribly attractive to begin with. If only she could have come home with me. Everything would be better if she hadn't died. My head begins to pound. As I raise a hand to my temples, it shakes uncontrollably. Time to head to the Hob to see Ripper.

* * *

To be honest, I don't remember a damn thing about the Reaping for the 74th Games. Not a single thing until the next morning, at breakfast. The boy tribute smashed my morning cocktail, and I decked him. Usually, the tributes eat everything in sight and don't pay me a bit of mind. These ones are different. Gutsy. Could I have a pair with a snowball's chance?

The girl has quick knife skills. I look them over. The boy looks familiar. Then a name vaguely comes to me. Mellark. It's Bran's son. The girl is from the Seam, but what catches my attention is the pin on her collar. I don't allow my eyes to linger on it, or betray the fact that I've noticed it at all. I can't begin to imagine how she came to have it, but I'd know it anywhere. It's my Maysilee's pin. And that, above all else, sways my decision.

I agree to be coherent enough to train them if they leave my liquor alone. I try to squash it, but a tiny bubble of hope forms. A chance at redemption after 46 dead tributes. This year, maybe this time, I could bring one of these kids home.


End file.
